


Sifting Through the Ashes

by Moonfireflight



Series: Elilahra Ardens [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.0 spoilers, Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst, F/M, background hyth and emet-selch, full mary sue because I wanted to give her a story to go with summoning phoenix, my personal character's backstory, spoilers for Through His Eyes, the death is off camera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-12 05:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20996627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonfireflight/pseuds/Moonfireflight
Summary: I'd never put my WoL's backstory on paper through our six years together, but after reading "Through His Eyes" I felt my long-suffering Summoner stir. Her more recent past as Elilahra Ardens of Leviathan isn't detailed here, but this tale explains part of why she treats her summons as mere utilities - a means to her goal of stopping the summonings of Primals or at least finding a way to overcome tempering. Also, Kinser is my hubby's character.Days after the events of 5.0, a dream returns to her bittersweet memories of a time before time.The lovely art within was provided by @Foitong_Cake on Twitter - She did such an amazing job with it!!(Side note: Somehow several random, uninvited spaces have shown up, particularly around italics. I don't know why this is but I'm far too sleepy to fix this tonight).I consent to the OTW terms of service and explicitly deny rights to reprint, share, or redistribute this work on any platform not owned by OTW. #





	Sifting Through the Ashes

“What is it that I’ve forgotten?” 

All of the hints were there, and so many of the pieces fit. Yet, between every line and page dwelt a yawning chasm of unknowns. Standing at its precipice, Elilahra Ardens feels the pull of the void, forgotten things calling for her to join them. She runs ink-stained fingers through her short purple hair and huffs in annoyance, causing one of the many pages before her to slip off the desk. One of her ears twitches as she watches it drift down to the hardwood floor. Finally forced to look up from her notes, she realizes the sun had long dipped down beyond the peaks outside of the Crystarium. 

For three nights, she’d been compiling everything recalled from her conversations with the illusions within the created city. That jagged skyline and its arcing spires flashes into her vision again when she tries to blink the sudden tiredness away. “_Dammit_!” 

If only she had tried harder to talk to him. If only he hadn’t brushed off half her questions. If only he… With another blink, she sees the horrific and beautiful thing he had become before forcing her to destroy the one Ascian willing to have a _ reasonable damned conversation for once._ A living link to antiquity and beyond, _ lost. _ Though she didn’t mourn the deaths of the others, she never relished in them either. Removing that which is nigh eternal from this world, even one that is a threat was more destructive than the loss of an entire library. _ If only there were another way. _

Now all that remained of them was that cryptic fiend Elidibus. Should she have tried harder to get the Scions to hear him out? Would she have bothered back then? Now he seemed determined to see her dead. _ So much for diplomacy. _

She glances back at the desk to make sure her glasses are still there rather than on her face and flops onto the bed. It feels too big without Kinser here, so she curls up against the extra pillows she’d requested, and gives in to sleep. 

***

“Oof! What?!” Not two steps into the room and Hades is accosted, taking the full force of a thick tome to his gut. 

The wielder of this unlikely weapon hands it over to a laughing Hythlodaeus before running to fling her arms around her friend’s neck. “How dare you make me wait to hear about your promotion on the nightly broadcast!” 

“I told you she would be displeased.”

“Do shut up,” replied Hades, his voice muffled by Hecate’s cowl. 

The short woman relinquishes her captive and takes a step back, admiring his new red mask. “Congratulations, old friend. It looks quite fetching on you.” She leans towards Hythlodaeus, tilting her head to him ever so slightly, grinning as he ducks behind Hades. Her two companions had been growing closer over the years, and she delighted in watching them dance and spin, their orbits shrinking every day now. 

***

A bipedal creature of stone tumbles over its feet, sending its cargo clattering to the floor, tea pooling on the black marble. Snarling, Hecate’s hand cuts through the air and the creature disperses. Another failure. With her new duties, she couldn’t stay here as often as she liked - couldn’t ensure that he slept enough or drank enough liquids or… _ That fool. A damnable brilliant fool who needs a nanny to make sure he doesn’t wither away while working all night. _

The cracked teacup littering the floor is just another reminder that she can’t create anything with _ true _ intelligence. Their lab was nearly half automated at this point, but only by a profusion of creations, each following one simple command unique to the individual. Now with her being raised to the Convocation, she’s had to entirely abandon her experiments. It was lucky that the others were willing to turn a blind eye to her soul research and it had taken Lahabrea’s skill at rhetoric to convince them that they were harmless enough. 

Her mask clatters to the floor and she presses her palms to her face, willing back the tears that ache behind her eyes. As impossible as it would have been to confess her feelings to a member of the Convocation, now the wall of professional distance was firmly in place, never to be breached. If only she could excise that foolish, covetous part of her - but the thought of giving it up stings worse than abandoning her research. 

***

Amid the veritable sea of parchment spread across the table, Hecate spots a series of symbols that piques her interest. The intricate formula is penned in Lahabrea’s familiar angular yet graceful script. These recent evenings spent combing through his notes and listening as he caught you up to speed on his latest research had been… enlightening. 

“What about…,” she asks, reaching for the page in question, “this configuration?” 

Lahabrea rumbles out a, “Hmmm,” leaning to look at the symbols along with her. She silently curses the flutter in her chest that it elicits. _ Focus. There’s no time for that - now, or ever._ Hecate watches him trace a finger across the page, his lips moving subtly as he pores over his notes. “Yes. I think you may be right. Were we to combine…” 

Shoulder to shoulder now, their discussion continues late into the evening, until at last… 

“Wait, I think I have it!” Hecate leans into Lahabrea’s space, forcing him to sit back while she adds her hypothesis to his own notes. A glance at his unmasked face shows a stern frown she’d seen often enough that it no longer leaves her feeling like a student again in his presence. “You see it, right?” 

A glimmer in his eye proceeds the smile that graces his fine lips. “I’d ask you not to mar my notes again in the future, but I know my words fall upon deaf ears. In truth, you’re right. That’s nothing shy of brilliant.” Even after years of being nigh equals in the Convocation, his praise makes her recall her early days when she fought to prove herself to those who had served for decades or more prior to her election to the position. It settles in her chest, warm and weighty, stirring up a yearning she hasn't been able to completely quash even with years of practice trying. “Then, shall we?” 

His words snap her out of the brief spell of melancholy settling over her. “What? Tonight?” It was already well past midnight, and, at least for her, she was too tired and… emotionally compromised for it to be wise to... 

“Let us be about it while the concept is fresh in our minds. You have it clearly, don’t you? I can see it gleaming in your eyes, Hecate - majestic and soaring. Come now.” He stands, offering her his hand. He can’t know the effect that seeing such a sincere, nigh-boyish smile on his usually stern face has on her but she would follow him to the ends of the star and beyond. 

They link hands, their souls already mingling in preparation for this act of creation. She recites the details of their creation in her mind - A phantom capable of wielding healing magics on command. Able to soar through the skies to reach those in need without delay. Its body will shine like fire, glowing in the dark of night and bright of day alike. If only they could imbue it with a soul, a will of its own, but she knows this is impossible. That thought needs to be cast aside before the work begins. It is a distraction, much like… “Hold true to the image in your heart, Hecate.” 

In her heart? She swallows and fights to reign her focus back in, away from the needling pain in her heart, away from the girlish flights of fancy, away from experiments bordering on the heretical had such a concept existed then. 

The chamber before them is a vast, tall cylinder of black stone with several observational nodes stationed strategically throughout. Although rare for a phantom to be dangerous, it was wise to take precautions on the off chance. Stray thoughts and distractions are the most common cause of such aberrations, she reminds herself sternly. 

Hecate looks to Lahabrea, his face alight with an almost manic eagerness. He’s always like this when a concept he’s worked on for some time is on the verge of actualization, and she ever feels lucky to be one of the few to see this side of Amaurot’s beloved Speaker. 

Healing magics, wings of fire. Focus. “I’m ready, Lahabrea,” she whispers, fearing the emotion will show in her voice otherwise. He nods. 

They stand in the center of the chamber and drop their physical connection for a moment, garbing themselves once more in their carmine masks. Linking hands is only a formality, but it grants a point of focus in tandem workings such as this. Eyes closed, the two of them, coworkers, compatriots, they let fall away the walls around them.

She’s felt this once before - the flaring of his soul alongside hers. It is often easy to forget that he’s hundreds of years her senior, even with her extensive knowledge of his history. But the utter vibrancy of his essence is almost blinding - vast, cosmic, and wonderous. How could she not wish to be by his side? No. A frivolous wish, especially when by letting go of her own wants… there. 

Souls dance, entwine. That which makes them Hecate and Lahabrea becomes more than one and one, and within this being is held an image. Formulae and arcane symbols give way to imagination. 

Flickering flame gleams upon masks of deep red and black marble walls flecked with molten gold. The core of it expands, wings bursting forth and trembling as they learn to feel the air. Once it gets a feel for the subtle currents of the room, those powerful pinions cut through the air, the gust flinging back the hoods of its creator as they watch in awe. Distantly they feel a sense of heat upon them and rejoice in the emerging realization of their will. Its flames harm not, only quickening, aetherically cauterizing and cleansing. 

Function solidified, the united soul cannot help but play, craving the joy of the aesthetic. Wings imply an avian form, of which the soul is fond so it forms a beak and keen eyes that glow like white-hot embers. It grows legs that end in mighty talons next, flexing them, testing their range and grasp. A myriad of long feathered tails stream out behind it, undulating gracefully as it keeps itself aloft with steady beats of its wings.

The soul is pleased with its creation and opens its heart to hear its name. Two are one and more, yet a quiet disharmony is felt. It begins as a droplet, bursting into a ripple. It fights against the force, straining to stay whole, struggling to hear. At once, as one, the creation’s name becomes truth. 

_Phoenix._

The phantom slams its wings down, flying close to the ceiling. It inhales and lets out an ear-splitting shriek that fills the toom, nearly knocking its creators off their feet, jarring their souls out of their united state. 

“_What?!_” 

Hecate holds up her arm to shield her face from the building heat above. “I don’t know! There’s something wrong with it!” 

Phoenix screams again before slamming into the far side of the room, bursting into a shower of sparks and licking flames. “Get back, Hecate!” With a last glance at the blazing phantom, she lets Lahabrea yank her out of the room and slam the door behind them. 

In tandem, they cast their masks and hoods aside, seeking respite from the oppressive heat, fighting to catch their breath. Though muffled, they can still hear the creature wail and fight against its captivity. She can’t divine the meaning behind Lahabrea’s eyes and strained grimace. Instead, it is his silence that speaks clearly to her. 

Whatever transpired, he blames himself. She doesn’t understand. He is never one to doubt his creative prowess. And Hecate? She was sure her stray thoughts were at fault - Too strong was the heartfelt delight at creating in union with him, and too keenly did she crave yet more. 

In silence, they listen to the mournful cries of their creation, each lost to the agony of failure in the face of perfectionism. 

***

The cry of Phoenix rings in Elilahra’s ears as she sits bolt upright in bed, fighting against the sheets that twist about her form. Slicked with a sheen of sweat, the cool air of the room bites at her skin. Shivers wrack her body, uncontrollable in their ferocity. She holds out her hand to summon the egi of Ifrit for the convenience of its warmth, having done this many a time. 

But the ur-entity that springs forth with a scream that mirrors the one in her heart is not Ifrit. Wings of flame and twisting tails fill the room with a wondrous warmth. It casts away the terror she awoke with, but its healing fires have not the will to discriminate. The bulwark of ignorance is seared away, crumbling to ash. 

Her hands fly to her throat, the building pressure there so intense she fears her next breath may not come. Finally, she gulps down a ragged breath, letting it out again in a choked sob. Alone. She feels so damn alone! Why?! The aetherial bird of fire before her has no answer, silently keeping itself aloft, its gentle glow filling the room. Even that is not enough to stop the torrent of tears that flow forth.

Every heartbeat thrums painfully through her skull, churning up waves of nausea. Elilahra falls to her knees, still weeping, her mind fitfully cross-referencing the memories awoken in dream to the events that brought her here. She knows what’s coming and digs her fingers into her scalp, willing away the scene beginning to replay in her mind - Of King Thordan’s twisted transformation into a Primal, of his sword, and of Lahabrea’s fearful final scream that day… 

“No… more!” The summoner’s fists slam into the floor over and over, hot tears salty on her lips as she screams. “I’ll find another way! No more death!” 

Beneath the unfeeling stars twinkling in the newly unveiled night, she vows that she will not slay the last link she has to those days, and to _him_. Though her heart belongs to another now, one who respects her as an equal and whom she loves like air, the memories of her soul and the world she once belonged to must never be forgotten, their mistakes never repeated. 


End file.
